


Growing Older

by Dedicate Kiwicrocus (cranky__crocus)



Category: Emelan - Pierce
Genre: Drabbles, F/F, Growing Up, daily life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:13:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Dedicate%20Kiwicrocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some day-in-the-life drabbles (usually someone looking for someone else, as happens with children and mischievous dedicates!) and a montage of growing up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Older

**Author's Note:**

> I used to do drabbles to dictionary.com's word of the day. Here are a few I wrote for the Emelan realm. :)

“Your plants are sulking from dehydration and that soil doesn’t look _at all_ well-prepared,” Rosethorn criticised, hands on her hips. “What in Mila’s name have you been doing?”

Briar started at the animadversion and shrugged from another place, distracted and filled with unhappy memories. He spoke truthfully: “I don’t know.”

“Well that much is apparent,” Rosethorn affirmed with furrowed brows. “Get those plants happy.”

He nodded; she left.

In the kitchen she was confronted by a slender woman, amused eyes narrowed. Before Lark could speak, Rosethorn grumbled, “Yes, I’m sorry” and turned.

Slender smiled sweetly.

“Boy! Let me help you.”

 

 

Daja was burnishing a metal frame when Rosethorn entered. She huffed, evidently her version of a greeting. Daja hid a lopsided grin; she could occasionally find Rosethorn’s no-nonsense presence endearing.

“Have you seen Lark?” Rosethorn inquired, one eyebrow arching toward her hairline. Daja couldn’t help wondering if Lark was in a spot of trouble.

“No, I haven’t.” Daja was sensible: she didn’t turn her next comment into a question. “I’m sure you asked Briar.”

“Dolt of a boy pointed me in the wrong direction. Tris told me to ask you.”

Daja merely smiled, soft and slow.

“Check the roof.”

“Perfect.”

 

 

Rosethorn sighed as she gingerly plucked up the runaway bean plant; a wayward seed must have brought it from the line of its kin. She shook her head and brought the young plant to a more _appropriate_ home.

“Rosethorn? Where’s Briar?” Lark stepped into the sunshine of the garden and squinted, cupped hand over her eyes. “Did you send him out?”

Rosethorn nodded. “I sent him out a long while ago. Why?”

“I need something heavy lifted—it would tamper with my breathing.”

Rosethorn stood with haste. “I’ll help. That boy is errant as the breeze.”

Lark smiled, hand outstretched.

 

 

Tris sighed as she watched the undulant motion of the waves.

For a moment she allowed herself to think back to the time she had attempted to control the tide—foolish, she knew now. Sometimes, still, she wished she could return to the days when she didn’t comprehend that: everything was new when she was younger.

It was before Daja figured out her sexuality; before Briar brought home a different lover every night; before Sandry had lost the right to boast over her lands and relatives in other countries.

The weather-witch was growing older and life was getting beyond difficult.

 

 

Briar laughed at the guard on his tail. Another of his nightly flings had sold him out, apparently; somehow even in these days it was occasionally better to plead rape than premarital consent—strict families. Briar wondered if the guard had opened her on the spot or was saving her until after the chase.

“Scamper off, filth!” Briar growled over his shoulder. The dog, panting, was not surprised by the act of sedition coming from the dark-skinned young man. “You’re dreaming the same! She won’t say yes to _you_!”

The green-mage was growing older and life was getting beyond difficult.

 

 

Daja smirked as she reached to toy with the young woman’s hair.

“I’m not a dog, you know,” the other female remarked with a slow smile. All the same, she nuzzled into that soft dark hand and warm brass covering.

“I know: you’re a cat,” Daja replied seriously, grinning. The jocular was their way of life. Both young women laughed, lounging luxuriously against each other. Daja’s companion stroked her thigh.

Daja knew that if her lover’s family caught them, the conflict would be unimaginable. She silently contemplated her decisions.

The smith-mage was growing older and life was getting beyond difficult.

 

 

Sandry grimaced down at the stack of paper set so sturdily on her desk: so much work, so little play time. Sandry remembered the days of her childhood, playing about on the roof with her foster-brother and -sisters. She saw them some, but they were all children grown now—adults.

Her work devoured her. She made good profits and was well-liked by those she knew, but her reputation for volatility and pride from youth preceded her at times. Still, she only cared that her foster-siblings and -parents loved her.

The stitch-witch was growing older and life was getting beyond difficult.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!


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